


break me down

by redstaronmyshoulder (CaptainAmelia22)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Wingfic, nephilim have wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 00:57:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19779955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmelia22/pseuds/redstaronmyshoulder
Summary: Magnus and Alec share a night in bed. Alec has wings.





	break me down

**Author's Note:**

> My girlfriend dragged me into Shadowhunters while we were on vacation and I fell head-over-heels in love with Magnus and Alec. I just...have a lot of feelings about them.
> 
> And because I'm still deep in Good Omens hell I am obsessing over WINGS too. So here have some wingfic. Sure. Why not. 
> 
> -M

Nephilim wings are highly sensitive. Something Magnus finds terribly interesting every time his fingers brush through his lover’s feathers and the man moans, arching into his body, eyelids fluttering in rapture. 

“Magnus,” Alec breathes, fingers clenching in the silk sheets Magnus presses him into. 

His wings-beautiful, pure, perfect-shift beneath the warlock’s fingers and he hums, straightening a rumpled primary, lips curling when the younger man hisses in a breath and his hips buck beneath Magnus’. 

“So beautiful,” Magnus murmurs, leaning down to press a light, open-mouthed kiss to the corded muscles in Alec’s throats. “My angel…”

Alec’s tattooed skin shudders under his trailing lips and the sound of feathers brushing silk fills the bedroom for a moment. 

“Stop...teasing,” the Shadowhunter pants, and feathers shift beneath Magnus’ hands, the only sign that the ethereal being in his bed is moving. The warlock gasps, finding himself flipped suddenly and his lips curl in a pleased smile as his lover presses him into the mattress and straddles his hips. 

Alec’s skin glistens with sweat, bruises from Magnus’ mouth beginning to rise amongst the twisting and twining lines of black ink engraved in his skin and the far older man takes a moment to revel in the tableau being spread before him. 

For his eyes only. 

Nephilim. 

They keep their wings close. They are sacred to the mortal angels. A sign of their divine begetting. 

Magnus Bane has seen his fair share of Nephilim wings. Some have been nailed to walls as macabre trophies. 

Some have been borne by terrible beings of evil. 

Some...Some, he has even been allowed to touch. 

But the angel before him...Gods, he is allowed to love him. And Magnus isn’t one for thanking the angels. But when Alec’s lips meet his and his wings fold over them in instinctual protection, he sends a prayer of thanks to Raziel himself for this particular perfect creation.

“Alexander,” he sighs, eyes fluttering when a feathered tip of his lover’s wing curls around him, stroking over his too-hot skin. “I love you.” 

Alec chuckles, rolling his hips absently so their too-sensitive cocks rub together, and he grins. 

“Do you love me? Or do you just love my wings?” he asks, his voice a husky rumble that vibrates through Magnus’ chest. 

He knows how much Magnus loves exploring his wings. He knows the warlock enjoys trailing his fingers through the white and gold feathers, lips curling every time Alec shudders against him. 

Nephilim hold their wings close. 

Only those they trust to the very brink are allowed to touch their feathers. Only those they love implicitly may stroke them into ecstasy. 

Only…

Magnus. 

“You know it is you I love, my angel,” he sighs, fingers tangling tight in Alec’s hair at the nape of his neck and his back arching as the younger man trails heated kisses down his throat. “You...only you.” 

Alec moans against the smooth planes of Magnus’ chest, his wings rippling over them and spreading across the wide expanse of the bed, feathers breathing gently against the silken bedding. 

Faded sunlight catches the silver and gold tones of his feathers, dappling their sweat and ink strewn bodies and Magnus loves this moment they share every night in his bed. 

This breathless, silent, perfect moment. 

Nephilim hold their wings close. 

Until someone sets them free. 

And by the Angel. 

He loves watching this particular set of wings stretch loose every night in his bed. 

“Love me, Alexander,” he breathes, eyes fluttering closed. “Love me…” 

“Always,” Alec says, smiling as the air stirs with a feathered caress. “Always.”


End file.
